


It Takes Two

by DoctorTrekLock



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, Happy Ending, M/M, Marriage, Marriage Proposal, Misunderstandings, Oblivious!Phil, Weddings, clear as mud!Clint, surprise wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-26 07:49:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12552684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorTrekLock/pseuds/DoctorTrekLock
Summary: Phil Coulson was a SHIELD Senior Agent.  So surely he should have known he was getting married.





	It Takes Two

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Taking Things Slowly](https://archiveofourown.org/works/645882) by [KuriKuri](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KuriKuri/pseuds/KuriKuri). 
  * Inspired by [I Do](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1008442) by [Jo (jmathieson)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jmathieson/pseuds/Jo). 



> There are several wonderful C/C fics about them dating but Phil (or sometimes Clint) not realizing it because their communication styles leave a bit to be desired. I haven't seen any wedding-related ones, but I figure that kind of thing carries over quite well.
> 
> This fic has been translated into Chinese by the lovely hikaru1308. It's available here: <http://watsonlock.lofter.com/post/1d3375f0_11d662a2>.

Clint’s chest was warm under his cheek, his heartbeat a steady thrumming in Phil’s ear.  Clint’s fingers trailed up and down his arm, sketching out incomprehensible patterns.

Clint’s voice vibrated in his chest as he spoke, his tone a forced casual.  “I was wondering what you thought about getting married.”

Phil gave the question some thought, his fingernail tracing a circle on his boyfriend’s shoulder.  “I like the idea of marriage,” he answered slowly, “but I never thought it would work out for me, with SHIELD and everything.”  He paused.  “I think I’d like to try it with you.”

The arm wrapped around him tightened imperceptibly.  “Good.  I’m glad.”  Clint’s voice was rough.  Anything else he was about to say was cut off when a cell phone started buzzing from one of the piles of clothing haphazardly scattered around the room.  “I’ll take care of it,” he promised, dropping a kiss to the top of Phil’s head before sliding out of the warm bed.

-

Phil was a secret agent.  It was his job to know the thoughts and intentions of others, to predict machinations from continents away.  He really should have seen this coming.

-

He was in his office trying to clear his inbox of backlogged mission reports when Clint’s head popped into the room from a hole in his ceiling.  Phil hadn’t heard him lift the grate off the vent, so it was only years of experience and training that kept him from jumping in his seat.

Instead, he just raised an eyebrow.  “Barton.  I do have a door for a reason.”

Clint just gave him a beaming grin in response.  “A question, sir.”

Phil eyed him warily.  “What is it, Agent Barton?”

“Gold or silver?”

“Silver.”

Clint gave him an appraising look.  “Hmm.  Thank you, sir.”  And disappeared back into the vents.

Phil shook his head and returned to his paperwork.

-

Two weeks later he was idly stirring soup on the stove when he heard Clint walk into the kitchen.  “Hill, Sitwell, or Fury?”

“What?”  Phil turned to look at him.  His boyfriend was leaning casually in the doorway, hair tousled, sweatpants slung low on his hips and t-shirt stretched across his shoulders.

“Would you prefer Hill, Sitwell, or Fury?”

Clint looked expectant.  Phil decided to just go with it.  “Sitwell.”

He got a nod and a small smile in return.  Clint pushed himself off the doorframe with his shoulder and walked out of the room.

Phil decided the soup could wait.

-

It really hadn’t been Phil’s fault.  The bike messenger had come out of nowhere, as had the car that he’d stumbled in front of.  At least he had the excuse of being kept overnight for observation for why he missed date night.

The door to his hospital room burst open and then Clint was there, body language calm but eyes a little frantic.  “Thank God.  I thought I told you not to get yourself killed.”  He dropped into the hard, plastic chair at Phil’s bedside.

“I’m not dead, Clint,” he protested mildly.

Clint ran a hand over his face.  “You know what I mean.”

They sat in silence for a moment, Clint’s eyes tracing over him, cataloging his injuries.

“How did you get back here anyway?  I thought visiting hours were over.”

Clint met his gaze and gave him a weak smile.  “I told the nurse I was your fiancé.”

“Right.”  That was a good idea.  He’d have to remember that for future use.

Another moment of silence.  Then Phil stretched out his hand and Clint took it.  They sat there in the quiet for some time.

-

They were on the range, Clint testing out the balance on Stark’s newest batch of grappling arrows, Phil watching the play of Clint’s biceps as he pulled and released.

Clint released an arrow, humming under his breath when it hit to the left of the bullseye.  He nocked another and pulled the bowstring back, sighting along the shaft.  “Blue or purple?”

It took Phil a moment to realize there had been a question directed at him.  He opened his mouth to say blue.  His eyes drifted unbidden across the definition of Clint’s chest under his uniform.  “Purple.”

Clint released the arrow, and it hit dead center.

-

They were relaxing on the couch, Phil flipping through the DVR as Clint reclined against his side.  Clint tilted his head up at him, eyebrows furrowed.  “Hey.”

Phil hummed in reply, running his fingers absentmindedly through Clint’s hair.

“You prefer tulips over roses, right?”

Phil gave him a surprised smile.  “Right.”

“Cool.”  Clint settled in more firmly next to him.

Phil hit play.

-

Phil was pouring over a stack of conflicting mission reports, documents strewn across the kitchen table while Clint sat on the other side of the mess, feet up on another chair, fiddling with something on his phone.

“Are you free the Sunday after next?”

Phil dragged his attention away from the papers.  “Hmm?”

Clint was frowning at his phone.  “Sunday after next.  It’s the only day that works for the next three months.”

Phil had no idea what he was talking about, but he didn’t have any real plans for the next three years, much less the next three months, so it really wasn’t an issue.  “I’m free barring missions.”

Clint nodded, never looking up from his phone.  “I’ll talk to Fury.”

Phil looked at him for a long moment, then shook his head and returned to his paperwork.

-

They were in line at the coffee shop near Stark Tower, standing between a harried businessman who kept checking his watch and an extremely loud woman talking on the phone about her latest break up.

“So,” Clint bumped his shoulder against Phil’s.  “Chocolate with cherries okay?”

Phil really didn’t know where all of these random questions were coming from, but he wasn’t going to try to guess and ruin whatever surprise Clint was planning for Sunday.  “Clint,” he turned toward his boyfriend and rested a hand on his shoulder, meeting his eyes.  “I trust you.”  A beat, then Clint nodded, a smile turning up the corners of his mouth.

Phil dropped his hand from Clint’s shoulder as the businessman gave his order to the barista.  “And yes, chocolate with cherries is wonderful.”

-

He really should have seen it coming.

When he woke up on Sunday, Clint was gone.  Phil frowned as his hopes of lazy morning sex dissolved.  There was a note on his pillow though, with instructions for Phil to wear the light grey suit Clint loved and the deep purple tie he’d draped over the doorknob and to report to Conference Room C on the helicarrier at 11.

Phil glanced at the clock.  He had a couple of hours still, but a bed without Clint didn’t hold any appeal, so he slid out of his warm cocoon to go take a shower.

At 10:59 he was standing outside Conference Room C, eyes on his watch, his other hand hovering over the doorknob.  The door opened before his watch clicked over.  There was Clint, in a matching light grey suit and purple tie, his hair carefully styled and a brilliant smile on his face.  “There you are.  Cutting it a little close, aren’t you?”

“I’m always on time,” Phil replied absentmindedly, his eyes skimming over Clint.  The suit had obviously been well-tailored, the fabric clinging to his shoulders and narrowing at his waist, revealing contours Phil had to fight himself not to reach out and touch.

“C’mon,” Clint beckoned, holding out a hand and interrupting Phil’s visual inspection.  “Places to be, and all that.”

Phil took his hand and was rewarded with another blinding smile before being gently pulled to the far end of the room.  He was vaguely aware that there were other people in the room, but the helicarrier wasn’t under attack and following Clint Barton had its own perks, so he forgave himself for being distracted.

Clint guided him to stand in a certain spot, then faced him and took his other hand.  Phil let his eyes wander lower.  He’d seen Clint in a suit before, of course, but there was something about the cut of this one, emphasizing his strong shoulders and trim waist, that demanded his full attention.  Besides, this was obviously Clint’s surprise.  How bad could it be?

Clint nodded to someone standing next to them.  “We’re ready, sir.”

Phil blinked and forced his eyes away from Clint’s tantalizing outfit.  Nick Fury was there, customary leather coat in place, purple and silver striped tie dangling incongruously from his neck.  Over Clint’s shoulder he could see Natasha in a long silver dress.  A crowd of people was gathered to his left.  What was going on here?

Nick cleared his throat.  “Alright, let’s get this over with.”  He turned to Phil.  “Phillip Coulson, do you take this man,” he gestured at Clint, “Clinton Barton to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

Phil blinked.  His mouth was dry.  He blinked again.  He opened his mouth.  He looked at Nick.  He looked at Clint, whose smile was starting to fade.  He looked back at Nick.  He cleared his throat.  His mouth was still dry.  “I…what?”

Nick gave him a strange look.  “Do you take Barton to be your husband?”

He blinked again.  He heard coughing behind him and what sounded like Tony Stark making a joke in the crowd.  He looked over his shoulder.  There was Jasper, in a grey suit with a silver tie, watching wide-eyed.  To his left the crowd of people resolved itself into the Avengers, a small crowd of SHIELD agents, and his parents.  The conference table was covered with a silver tablecloth and scattered with purple tulips.  There was a cake in the center that he was willing to bet was chocolate with cherries.

He looked back at Clint.  Clint looked concerned.  Phil wet his lips.  “Clint,” he said carefully, “are we getting married?”

Clint answered slowly, like he thought that was a trick question.  “…Yes?”

Phil opened his mouth, closed it, then tried again.  “Don’t you think you should ask me first?”

Now Clint just looked confused.  “I did.”

Phil was pretty sure he would have remembered that.  “I’m pretty sure I would have remembered that.”

Clint’s eyebrows were about to meet in the middle of his forehead, his hands warm around Phil’s.  “It was right after we got back from Berlin.  We were in bed, and I asked if you wanted to get married.”

Phil’s voice was weak.  “I thought that was just a general inquiry.”

Now it was Clint’s turn to open his mouth, then close it without saying anything.  He glanced around the room, the skin at the corners of his eyes tightening in thought.  He looked back at Phil, then seemed to come to a decision, his face relaxing once more.  “Right.”  He gave a short nod, then dropped smoothly to one knee, still holding Phil’s hands in his own.

“Phillip Jonathan Coulson,” he started, holding Phil’s gaze.  Phil could hear Stark snickering in the background before someone – Pepper or Rogers, probably – cut him off with an elbow to the ribs.  “I have wanted you since you shot me in Tangiers, and I have loved you since you trusted me in Budapest.”  He hesitated.  “When I thought you were dead, I didn’t know what I would do without you.”  Phil tightened his grip on Clint’s hands and felt an answering pressure in response.  “The two years we’ve had since you’ve been back have been the best years of my life, and I want to have many more with you in the future.  I love you.  Will you marry me?”

There was really only one answer to that.  “Yes.  Of course I’ll marry you, Clint.”  He pulled Clint to his feet and into his arms as the assembled crowd burst into spontaneous applause.  He held his boyfriend – _fiancé_ – tight against his chest and felt Clint’s arms around him as well.  He dropped a kiss to the side of Clint’s neck.  “I just wish you would have asked first.”

Clint snorted and tightened his grip.  He took a deep breath.  “You really didn’t know?”

Phil let out a huff of laughter.  “I was planning on going ring shopping next week.”

That got him another laugh.  After a moment Clint pulled away and his eyes were dancing mischievously now.  “So,” he drawled, “you wanna get married now?  It’s just that I’ve got the whole thing set up.”

Phil laughed and ducked his head before taking a breath and looking back up with a smile.  He shrugged easily.  “Sure, why not.  I’ve got the day blocked off.”

Clint stepped back again and took Phil’s hands in his own again.  “Alright, take two.”  He looked over at Nick, who was watching the whole thing with wry amusement.  “Can we take it from the top, sir?”

Nick rolled his eye.  “Why not, Barton.”  He addressed the room at large.  “Anyone else – including the grooms – have a reason why these two shouldn’t be married?  Not you, Stark.  No?  Good.  Keep it that way.”  He turned to Phil.  “Again, do you, Phillip Coulson, take this man, Clinton Barton, to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

Phil met Clint’s eyes steadily.  “I do.”


End file.
